The Holder of the Purpose
In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Purpose" A look of pained depression will cross his face, and he will stand up and walk out of the room. Follow him out and down the hall. Eventually he will unlock a set of chained double doors, beyond which is another hall. The worker will go no further, pointing you down the hall before returning to his post. The lights further down the hall won't seem to be working. Once you're a ways in, the double doors behind you will slam shut. You will hear the rattle of chains on the other side. Walk down the dark hallway. It will seem longer than the span of the entire building. Soon you will notice torsos on long chained hooks all around you. Even now they still live; their cries will rake your ears. No words escape their lips as they know no language. All they know is pain. Their eyes have been torn out and stream red tears of blood. Their hearts are exposed and still beat even with the cold metal chains impaled through them. Their arms end in bloody stumps at their elbows, and their bodies end at the base of their ribcage. They flail their stubs of arms; their heads squirm, crying for release from their cruel fate. Black, unnatural birds with curved talons and sharp, barbed beaks circle above. The birds feast on these bodies in small tortured portions. You will see that thousands of birds occupy this hall. Pay them no mind, and be as quiet as you can. If they notice your presence, they will cry for their keeper and you will join the "men" in their eternal torture. As you proceed down the hall, their cries will stifle behind you. The moment the last of the screams fade away, yell, "I only wish to know!" If a cloaked figure with huge terrible black wings appears in front of you, it is already too late. The keeper of the birds has found you. The chain he holds in his hands will be the one you hang from to feed his children. But if a bridge is revealed to you, cross it quickly. Across the bridge, there is a faceless man dressed in white. His body is sickly pale and bony. He holds a pair of scales made of white gold, with beautifully perfect designs. The craftsmanship put into making the scales is beyond comprehension. Do not stare at it long. Look directly at where his eyes should be and ask only one thing "What is their purpose?" He will hold up his scales in front of him and answer you. His explanation is not meant for human ears. The faceless man will defile and rape your mind as he forces it to comprehend the magnitude of the universe and all things, physical and planar, real and ethereal. You will scream as your one singular being is weighed against all things. This torturous mind raking will delve into your soul and go on for what seems like hours, perhaps days. His explanation will force you to realize how insignificant you really are, how nothing would have changed in the grand scheme of things if you had never been born. For a brief moment, you will understand the work and craftsmanship put into the scales. Your mind will be nearly torn asunder by the comprehension of this beauty and perfection. You won't want to look away from it, for its enticing allurement will steal your breath away. Despite this, muster all of your willpower and avert your eyes. When he finishes, most go insane from the maddening explanation; others sink into an inconsolable depression as his words echo in their minds forever. The faceless man calls the keeper for these people; they are fated to join the rest on chains. But if you manage to stand in front of him, look back into his face and then kneel before him, he will hand you the scales. The scales are Object 95 of 538. It has the power to weigh one's soul against all things. Do you carry a fate that can make it balance?